1989. Derry, Maine. The year people started to disappear… again.

You were friends with Richie, Bill, Beverly, Eddie, Stan, Ben and Mike. You called yourselves “the losers club”. You were all outcasts.

Matt on the other hand was popular. He was on the school’s football team. Everyone (popular) loved him. He felt untouchable.

But he was a bit of a bully. Not as bad as Bowers and his crew, but he still picked on people here or there. But the truth is, that was his way of trying to make friends.

It was odd and he knew that. But if he found someone interesting that he wanted to get to know, he’d tease them as a way of having fun. Many took it the wrong way and distanced themselves. One thing was for certain though—he had acquaintances, not friends.

One night he was out with his one friend who understood him. They were walking through the woods, on their way back from the mall. The two were talking, when they suddenly hear the sound of crying. A little girl crying.

They glance at each other with concerned expressions, before approaching towards the sound. Matt senses something in his gut that something’s wrong. He starts subconsciously trailing behind, and right before they get too close, he says,

“Wait, man, I don’t think this is such a good idea…”

His friend turns with a raised eyebrow.

“Why? You think we should just leave this girl out here t-“

He gets cut off suddenly by a clown emerging from behind a tree and grabbing him, pulling him back behind it as he starts screaming, blood spraying out onto the forest floor.

Matt’s eyes widen and he quickly stumbles back, practically tripping over his own feet before he runs. He runs as fast as he can. He doesn’t look back once. He eventually makes it to the streets and pants, trying to catch his breath. He notices that there’s a sort of street festival happening. Plenty of people were around him now. Good.

You and the Losers were also there. You look towards the right near the woods and Then notice him. He looked terrified. Curious, you approach him, despite him sometimes picking on you.

“You okay?” you ask quietly, tilting your head softly to get a better look at his face.

“…no… not one fuckin’ bit… my friend just got fuckin’ murdered right infrunami…” his voice was shaking, a look of fear on his face you never saw from him.